


Original Orpheus

by CornflowerBlue (DayDaDahlias)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 2016 era 5SOS, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Ashton Irwin Loves Luke Hemmings, Ashton Irwin in Love, Awkward Flirting, Calum Hood & Ashton Irwin Friendship, Chaotic Arts Majors, Creative Writing Major Calum, Final Projects, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Lots of talk about a play called Eurydice, Love Confessions, Luke is Obsessed with Ashton's Dick, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Photographer Ashton is something so dear to me, Photography, Photography AU, Pining, Sleepy Sex, Top Ashton Irwin, music major luke, photography major ashton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDaDahlias/pseuds/CornflowerBlue
Summary: It wasn't Ashton's fault. In his defense, he had been drunk and Luke had kissed him first. So the first time wasn’t his fault... but the next ones definitely were.Or, the one where Ashton is a photography major and is trying not to fall in love with his roommate.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 91





	Original Orpheus

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I'm obsessed with super niche college AUs...
> 
> :)

Ashton didn’t mean for it to happen. And it’s certainly not his fault. 

In Ashton’s defense, he was drunk. Luke was drunk. _Everyone_ was fucking drunk. And sure, Ashton’s always had some sort of attraction to his roommate but it’s never been like… 

They’re friends. They’ve always been friends. 

But there was something about that night. When the moonlight bled into their dorm from the windows as they tripped inside, giggling with one another about absolutely nothing—far drunker than they usually would be, except that finals are coming up and they need pick-me-ups more and more often these days.

There had been something about the way Luke chewed on his bottom lip when he looked at Ashton, biting back a stupid grin as he fumbled to get out of his shoes. The way he reached out a hand to stabilize himself on Ashton’s shoulder while Ashton kicked off his own. And there had been something about the way Luke slid his hand down Ashton’s arm, gripping onto his forearm for balance, his nails digging into Ashton’s flesh. 

And there had been something in the way Ashton had paused, blinking at Luke through dilated pupils in the dark.

Luke had stared back at him, and the smile had faded, and Ashton had been so drunk he barely remembers it now, what happened between that moment and the one where Luke kissed him but he does remember soft lips and heavy breathing mixing between their mouths. 

If he had been sober, he would have stopped it there. Said this was something that could jeopardize their friendship and he couldn’t have that. If he had been stronger, he would have pushed Luke back and told him to go to bed alone. But he had been weak and he had been drunk so all he had done was pull Luke closer. 

If Luke had been sober, he wouldn’t have kissed Ashton at all. 

So, for the record, Ashton hadn’t meant for it to happen and it wasn’t his fault. He had been drunk and Luke had been drunk and Luke had kissed him first. 

But after he had tasted Luke’s lips the first time, felt his body moving beneath him that once, how was he expected to be satisfied?

So maybe the first time wasn’t his fault. 

But the next ones definitely were.

***

Ashton has a habit of writing on his bedroom window. Also on the bathroom mirror. Also on the palms of his hands and his forearm and any loose sheet of paper he can find nearby. Basically, Ashton makes a habit of writing on anything that will hold words on it. 

The reminders are usually small things like ‘buy cereal’ or ‘out of toilet paper again’ or ‘finish chemistry hw’ or ‘paper due Tuesday’ but on occasion they shift to bigger picture ideas. Sometimes he writes random phrases he’s heard, or quotes he likes, or goofy things his friends have said or, most frequently, inspiration for future pieces—words that create an image in his head he can turn into a creation. 

He’s sitting on his bed, across from his window covered in white marker, eyes scanning those words, searching for an answer to the question in his head. 

_Skeleton painted gold_.

 _New ways to feel_.

_Why bother breathing?_

They don’t really mean anything by themselves, merely food for thought. Although, in the corner of the window, in all caps, he catches ‘BITS OF A WHOLE’ and he lets out a sharp breath. _Fuck_ , he thinks. Because that definitely means something. It means way too much.

His final for his photography class is due in two months and he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what he’s supposed to do with the prompt that’s been given. _Bits of a whole_ , his teacher said. Bits of a fucking whole, like that’s supposed to instantly conjure some beautiful art piece in his mind. 

He’s staring at the words, frowning, his brain rattling around possible pieces and possible wholes. It has to be something worth a photo—worth many photos; he has to create a whole collection for this subject.

This project was assigned weeks ago and he hasn’t even entertained the thought until this very moment, sitting cross legged on his bed in his pajamas. He didn’t have any classes today and he has a pencil tucked behind his ear and a couple prints in his hands, shifting through them, trying to understand what makes his art any better than any art before it.

But really, the answer’s nothing because art is subjective to the viewer, yada yada, and that scares him more than anything else because how is he supposed to know if he’s talented or not, if talent is so up in the air? So he groans and drops the prints onto the floor beside his bed on top of similar, abandoned prints. 

There’s a gentle rap on the door. 

“Unlocked!” he calls without looking up, eyes trained on the floorboards and his photographs. 

The door creaks open and he glances over his shoulder to see Luke—of course, because who else would it be? Luke literally lives here and no one but him is allowed in Ashton’s room. It took a while for Ashton to even allow _Luke_ access. It had taken a lot of convincing and bribery on Luke’s part, but eventually he had been prompted entry. 

“Heya.” Luke flashes a bright smile, bracing his hand on the doorframe. His eyelids are hooded and his tone lets on a bit too much subtext. Ever since that night, there’s always something unspoken in the way he communicates with Ashton now. 

“Hey,” Ashton returns, not in the mood, before he notes, “you’re home early.”

“Yeah,” Luke answers, seeming to notice Ashton’s irritation, pushing the door open further, “Dr. Greene let us out early to go ‘study’ for our test tomorrow, like any of us are actually going to.” 

He enters the room, stepping over the mess on the floor; Ashton isn’t a particularly organized person creatively. Sketches and outlines are stacked in a pile and his textbooks are stacked precariously and he has a pile of photographs sitting next to his camera equipment, waiting to be chopped up and repurposed into his next collage. 

He’s sort of a disaster, to be honest. 

“I’m telling you,” Luke starts in regard to the mess, almost tripping on a loose sheet of paper, “you need to get a bulletin board, Ash.”

Ashton chuckles as Luke sits on the edge of the bed beside him about a foot away which feels at the same time too close and yet too far. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What quote are we analyzing today?” Luke focuses his attention on the window, squinting in order to make sense of Ashton’s fucked up handwriting. He reads aloud, “ _I wish I was a citrus tree_? Oh, I like that one. Very indie poetry. Cottage core? Overall aesthetic?”

“Shut up.” Ashton snorts, gently hitting Luke in the back of the head. When Luke laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his voice hitching as he does, Ashton has no choice but to soothe his hand over the part of Luke’s head he hit, and pet down the mess of curls, massaging his fingers through them as he says, “I’m thinking about my photography final.”

“Oh?” Luke hums, interested in the topic as he leans back into Ashton’s touch, eager for the attention and halfway closing his eyes at the feeling. It’s something Ashton’s learned after a year being roommates and three months being… something a little more than that; Luke likes having his hair petted. “What’s the prompt again?”

“Bits of a whole,” Ashton repeats with distaste. “We have to take pictures of pieces and then, finally, the whole. But she said it has to be something you wouldn’t normally think of about being a whole and things you wouldn’t normally think of as pieces. ‘Outside the box,’ she says. Always outside the box with this bitch.”

“Damn,” Luke replies through a chuckle, “I was gonna suggest a puzzle but I guess that’s not bold enough.”

Ashton snorts, slipping his fingers out of Luke’s hair which earns him a small grumble in return and Luke hunching his shoulders into his neck. “I’ll put that idea on the back burner. I want something… I don’t know. It’s my final; it has to be good. Challenge the form or something.”

“Oh, oh!” Luke exclaims, eager all of a sudden. “How about fruits? And then at the end, a _bowl_ of fruit?”

Ashton rolls his eyes as Luke carries on.

“But like, it’s actually a statement on originality,” Luke says, dramatic, “and how all painters are expected to be able to paint fruit arrangements when really, there’s no way to actually make a fruit arrangement look good because it’s just a bowl of fucking fruit.” 

“What did bowls of fruit ever do to you?” Ashton asks and Luke shakes his head. 

“I’m talking about symbolism.”

Ashton smiles. “You’re talking to Calum too much, is what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, true.” Luke leans back on his elbows on the bed, shifting to get comfortable as he stretches his long legs out, kicking off his shoes off onto Ashton’s floor which Ashton doesn’t complain about. It’s already such a mess that a pair of shoes won’t change anything. “They’re reading plays right now—”

“ _Write_ now.”

“Shut up.” Luke tries to get more comfortable on the bed, leaning fully back and pulling his legs up. “And they’re gonna have to make their own scene based on it. There’s this one play he’s reading called _Eurydice_ by Sarah Ruhl, and he read some excerpts for me and _Jesus_ Christ, I pity the fool.”

“Give me a line,” Ashton says. 

Instantly, as if he’s been waiting for Ashton to ask, Luke recites in a far off voice, staring at the writing on the window, “ _The language of the dead is a very quiet language. Like if the pores in your face opened up and talked. Like potatoes sleeping in the dirt_.”

Ashton blinks at him. “Like _potatoes_ sleeping—”

“It’s more poetry than prose,” Luke explains matter-of-factly and it sounds as though he is repeating exactly what Calum told him when complaining about his playwriting class which makes Ashton smile to himself, imagining the two of them making their way across campus together, Calum shouting out his disdain for playwriting while Luke nods along hurriedly, making sure to retain all the information to relay to Ashton later. It’s their system at this point. Luke is a great messenger. Ashton could listen to him tell stories forever in that giggly way he does, all jovial interjections and horrible jokes. 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Ashton replies fondly, looking at Luke who has reclined almost fully back on Ashton’s bed like it's his own, head tilted on his shoulders and one of his hands fiddling with the teal bedspread beneath him. 

His hair is an absolute mess right now; he’s been growing it out and doesn’t yet know what to do with the curls that are starting to twirl around the backs of his ears so they currently lay misshapen and haphazard across his forehead and the nape of his neck. His blue eyes aren’t focused on Ashton but on the string he is attempting to pull from the covers. 

He looks remarkably young these days and Ashton hopes he can blame that on happiness. 

He also looks remarkably beautiful but Ashton doesn’t dwell too much that.

“So what’s Cal gonna do for his scene?” he wonders. 

Luke shrugs, pouting pink lips. His nails are painted purple right now and he admires them briefly. “Who the hell knows. He’s still trying to process the significance of potatoes.”

“Geez.” Ashton peers at his notepad of a window and all the scribblings that are starting to blur together into one frantic phrase. He takes his pencil from behind his ear to play it through his fingers. “None of us know what the hell we’re doing with our lives, huh?”

“Nope!” Luke lets out a cheerful laugh, pushing himself up off the bed. He has to fix his shirt and Ashton watches the way long fingers with shiny nails smoothe the fabric down and he swallows. “But we’re all spur of the moment people; we’ll figure it out later than sooner.”

“That’s not how it should go,” Ashton says, watching as Luke leaves the bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind him—an obvious invitation for Ashton to follow. 

“Sure it is!” Luke’s footfalls grow dimmer as he shuffles down the hallway in sock clad feet, his shoes left abandoned on Ashton’s carpet. “I’m gonna watch a movie; I need to de-stress for my test tomorrow.”

Ashton doesn’t answer, only so he can hear Luke’s socks stop before turning back down the hall, and awkwardly end up outside Ashton’s door again. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Luke’s voice asks, smaller than before. 

“Yeah, of course I am,” Ashton answers, getting up. Because of course he is. 

He needs the distraction and he always follows Luke. Plus, when they ‘watch a movie’ together now, they don’t really _watch a movie_ , which is sort of sad considering that Ashton used to like their movie nights. But maybe he likes Luke’s lips on his and Luke’s swallowed moans a little more. So he doesn’t complain. 

_Bits of a whole_ …

Honestly, what the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

***

“And the stones? They _speak_.”

Calum is pacing like a mad man across the grass, trampling it down beneath his boots in his wake, wielding his copy of _Eurydice_ in one hand, keeping his place with a thumb so the cover flaps wildly every time he gestures. 

“The stones fucking speak, Ashton!”

Ashton snorts, sending Calum a pitying glance as he adjusts his camera settings. He raises it back up to his eye, aiming for the water fountain. 

They have this beautiful fountain on campus in the common area where people go to study on the lawn when warmer weather allows. The fountain is two figures, a mother with a pail which she is dumping out into a child’s hands, which Ashton thinks—despite its beauty—is completely impractical. All the water is running out of the child’s palms anyway. 

But he still wants to get a good photo of it, so he readjusts to get the pail properly in frame. 

_Bits of a whole_ , his mind repeats as he zooms in and then out again, unsure how close he wants to get to the details of the stone. It’s sort of ugly up close when he’s looking. 

“Stones aren’t supposed to fucking speak!” Calum is wailing in the background. “I don’t understand why there are stones at all! Why aren’t they like, I don’t know, ghosts! They’re literally in Hell! Shouldn’t there be ghosts in Hell and not fucking _rocks_!”

Ashton closes one eye to focus. “I’m sure the author, Sandra—”

“Sarah.”

“Right, Sarah—wants you to look closer than the obvious.” Ashton zooms further in. “They’re probably representative of, like, gravestones or something. Also the whole point is, she’s in the Underworld, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What else would be in the underworld?” Ashton takes a photo and hates the way it comes out so he reframes. “She’s supposed to be alone but you need narrators to move the plot along, so they have to be some sort of scenery component and there’s probably not any grass or foliage in the Underworld, thus… _rocks_." _Click, click, click_. “Did Luke tell you about my final prompt?”

Calum says, “Pieces of a whole, right?”

“Yeah.” Ashton puts his camera down in his lap, drumming his fingers across the top of it. “And I’m literally so lost. I have no ideas. Not one.”

“A puzzle?” Calum suggests incredulously like that should be the only answer.

Ashton gives him a harsh glare. “It has to be _outside of the box_ , she says.”

“You could like, _paint_ a puzzle. So it’s your own art.” Calum gives him a wondering look. “That would be pretty cool; you’re a good artist.”

“Not good enough to turn it in for my final,” Ashton says and he looks down at his camera in his lap, flipping through the photos he’s just taken. 

“Hey, those look pretty good,” Calum comments, leaning over his shoulder to watch as Ashton goes through the twenty or so photos he captured of the fountain figures. 

“They lack intention.” Ashton frowns, shutting his camera off, and Calum lets out a deep grunt from the back of his throat. 

He mimics in a high voice, “ _they lack intention_ , he says. You pretentious fucker. Feels like you should be the creative writing major and not me.”

“You ever think about the fact that we’re literally _all_ arts majors?” Ashton asks to that, glancing at Calum who is sitting back in the grass to get more comfortable like Luke had on Ashton’s bed the night before and then on the couch later when _The Princess Bride_ played in the background while Ashton took his clothes off. “We’re all so _stupid_. How the fuck are we gonna make a livlihood? We’re all gonna have to live together in a joint loft and get jobs as street hookers to pay the bills.”

Calum smiles to himself. “I’d be a great street hooker. And, don’t worry, I’ve already informed Michael that when he and Crystal get married, he’ll have to leave the upstairs open for all of us.”

Ashton scoffs. “Because that would happen.”

“I have faith our father will provide,” Calum says deeply while holding his palms together. 

“Stop calling Michael your father; he hates it,” Ashton snorts. 

“Fine.” Calum shrugs, nudging Ashton with his shoulder. “But only if I get to call you daddy.”

“No!” Ashton exclaims and Calum falls into a fit of laughter. 

Ashton moves to put his camera away when, from the corner of his eye, he catches sight of—who else but—Luke Hemmings walking toward the fountain where Calum and he are sitting, backpack slung over one shoulder as his shoes tread over the ground. 

His newly curly hair is as fucked as it usually is and he’s got this beautiful smile balanced on his face, the sun hitting him perfectly to make his golden hair glow. He’s wearing a long sleeved shirt with the sleeves bunched up at his elbow and his jeans are cuffed above his black sneakers. He’s walking slightly lopsided and that makes Ashton’s breath catch in his throat because he knows exactly why and, even better, knows that it's his fault.

It feels like everything after that first night is his fault. 

Luke is a type of vision in the sunshine, all messy hair and evidence of Ashton’s lingering touch, and Ashton scrambles to pick his camera up fast enough. 

He snaps about seven pictures of Luke walking towards them, catching the way Luke raises his hand in a greeting wave, and how his smile widens when he realizes what Ashton is doing. 

“Do I need to pose for you?” Luke calls out as he nears, depositing his backpack onto the ground, his cheeks dusted a soft pink. His eyes refuse to make contact with the camera. 

Ashton knows Luke doesn’t love his picture being taken but he has come to realize he has a photography student for a roommate. Even before they started fucking, Ashton still managed to snag photos of him now and then to ‘hone his craft.’ Although, that’s not the only reason and it never was to begin with.

Ashton thinks, and always _has_ thought, that Luke is the prettiest person on the planet and is perfectly made to be the center of a photo. Not that he would ever tell Luke that out loud because it’s a little too bold for their current relationship status which is, by definition, _we fuck each other sometimes in our dorm room and no one knows about it but us because that would be embarrassing because the moment this semester ends we’ll probably forget all about this because this is just circumstance because there’s no way we actually like each other_ — 

So, whether Luke enjoys it or not, his photo is taken quite a fair amount. 

“Sexy pose!” Calum cheers and Ashton snickers to himself as he reviews the photos he took, which are nice, showcasing Luke’s long legs mid stride and greeting smile but he knows he can do better.

“Would you scoop up some water from the fountain?” Ashton asks without thinking about it. 

Luke and Calum both pull confused expressions and Ashton shakes his head. 

“I’m serious, c’mon. Just—” He makes a scooping motion with his hands while holding the camera— “Hold it in your palms for a second for me above the fountain, near the statues.”

Luke knows better than to question Ashton’s artistic vision at this point so with a shrug he walks over to the fountain, bending over to scoop up some water into his smooth hands. 

While he is bent over, facing away from them, Calum hisses into Ashton’s ear, “make sure to get a good shot of his ass.”

“I’m gonna kill you someday,” Ashton returns through a laugh, and maybe there’s some truth to that statement that wouldn’t have been there a couple months ago when Calum made a joke like that. But then Ashton consoles himself by thinking the joke’s on Calum because Ashton is the only one between them who’s actually seen Luke’s ass. He can’t hold back a grin.

Calum doesn’t notice. “Completely understandable.”

“Like this?” Luke wonders over his shoulder, pulling his hands up from the fountain cupped together, holding a small puddle of water between them that drips out of his fingers and runs down the back of his hand and his wrist. Drip, drip, drip. 

Ashton instantly raises the camera to his eye, catching photo after photo of Luke’s hands. His nails are dark purple today and only two of them are chipped, his pointer finger and his thumb, where he has a habit of chewing on them when he’s nervous or in between verses in songs or when he gets a note wrong and has to start again. 

The lighting makes them shimmer and sparkle with the water. 

Ashton loves Luke’s hands. The way he fiddles them through his hair or over his face or on the back of his neck or the way he rubs the inside of his wrist with them. He likes the way Luke’s hands cup Ashton’s jaw when they’re kissing on the couch, or when Luke uses them to unbutton his shirt. He likes it _a lot_ when Luke’s hands dig their painted fingernails into his back or biceps when searching for purchase while Ashton fucks him. 

Ashton loves Luke’s hands. 

“Yeah,” Ashton tells him, wetting his lips, “thanks, Lu.”

“Cool.” Luke pours the rest of the water back into the fountain and Ashton makes sure to get several more photos of that too and then a few of Luke’s empty hands, glistening purple nails and long fingers dripping with water. 

He pulls the camera back into his lap as Luke finally comes to join them, sitting beside Ashton on the grass, bumping shoulders with him as he starts to go back through the photos. There’s subtext to that bump and the way Luke’s fingers briefly graze Ashton’s knee and thigh as he sits down but, as always, Ashton doesn’t say anything. Merely sends Luke a sharp glance, one to say, _I know what you’re doing_ to which Luke smiles innocently back. Like he doesn’t know what a little shit he is.

Ashton is flipping through the photos he’s taken until Calum asks with a small whine, “You didn’t get a single one of his ass?”

Luke lets out a loud cackle at that and Ashton shakes his head, trying to will away the jealousy that creeps up again. 

“Hey, by the way,” Calum continues by perking up and looking over Ashton to Luke, “you agree that stones shouldn’t be able to fucking speak, right? Like, I’m not the only one that thinks that?” 

Ashton snorts but doesn’t listen to the answer as he keeps going through the pictures of Luke’s glittery-looking hands, exhaling roughly as he pictures them in other places.

It doesn’t help that Luke’s knuckles keep brushing the side of his thigh out of Calum’s eyesight.

***

Ashton writes five letters on his bedroom window in big capital letters, right in the left hand corner. 

H - A - N - D - S

When Luke comes into his room later that afternoon, his guitar strung around his neck, he points at the new phrase and declares like he’s some funny guy, “hey, I have those.”

“Yeah.” Ashton feels awkward all of a sudden, eyes caught on Luke’s fingers absently toying with the strings, imagining them pulling at the bottom of his shirt, or grappling to get a hold on his shoulders instead. Ashton needs to get his brain in check. He thinks too much. “You do.”

***

That weekend, Luke is singing in the living room, like he often does, and Ashton is perched on the couch across from him, uploading photos onto his computer from his camera. He glances up as Luke goes through a warm up, his voice running up and down the scales, and he doesn’t even look like he’s trying, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing sleepily at one of his eyes. 

His hair is parted completely fucking wrong and he has on pajama pants and a t-shirt, barefoot on their carpet. It’s noon and yet he’s only woken up, his bleary eyes proof of it. But, ever the musician, he is in the middle of their living room, flipping through sheet music as he croons.

“Hey,” Ashton breaks in, interrupting Luke mid-scale. 

Luke gives him a curious look, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He lets out a tired hum in response. “Mhm?”

Ashton knows there isn’t anyone around, so it’s the only time he can say it, but even with just the two of them, he feels nervous as he says, “You look gorgeous.”

Luke stops, giving him a funny look. “Huh?”

Ashton repeats after swallowing, bolder, “I said you look gorgeous.”

A knowing smirk spreads over Luke’s face as he says, looking back to his sheet music and turning the page, “Someone’s looking to get laid tonight, huh?”

But that’s not the case. Ashton only thinks Luke looks gorgeous. He always thinks Luke looks gorgeous even if he tries his hardest not to say it. That adds too much; it may give Luke the wrong idea of what it is that they have going on. Well, it may give Ashton the wrong idea of how much he’s allowed to let slip. And he says as much in a simple, “no. Just think you look good s’all.”

“I look like a literal train wreck, Ash,” Luke replies after a beat, more hesitant as he darts his eyes away, running a hand through his hair which only fucks it up more. 

“Here,” Ashton offers, moving to the side to retrieve his camera, “let me take a picture for you; I’ll prove that you’re gorgeous today.”

He raises his camera to his eye without a response, and focuses it on Luke standing in the middle of their dorm living room in front of his music stand, one hand on his hip and the other fluffing his hair up. His smile is nervous but his bleary eyes are squinted at the corners and the sun is pouring in from the window to light up half his face and his golden curls.

Ashton snaps a few photos in quick succession before pulling the camera away, and going through them. 

“Here,” he says through a broad smile as he turns the camera around for Luke to see a photo of himself smiling with his fingers caught in his hair, blue eyes cast away from the camera because they don’t want to be seen. 

“Ew,” Luke answers without a second thought, pulling away with a grimace. 

“ _Ew_!” Ashton cries, looking back at the photo in shock. “What the fuck do you mean ‘ew’! This is not ‘ew’!”

“I mean ew.” Luke fixes his sheet music with a teasing grin. “I look like a trainwreck, like I said.”

Ashton pouts, clicking back onto his computer as he continues to do his work. He grumbles under his breath, “I think you look gorgeous, you bitch.”

“Thanks, Ash,” Luke laughs under his breath as he starts to sing again. 

Ashton doesn’t miss the way he fixes his hair another time and his cheeks brighten to a redder shade, his fingers tripping over his sheet music when he goes to turn the page again. 

Ashton makes sure to download the new photos of Living-Room-Luke with his sleepy blue eyes and sunkissed messy hair onto his computer along with the previous photos of his glimmering hands.

***

Ashton is starting to love the longer hair on Luke more and more.

It frames his face better, it’s cute and fluffy and soft to the touch and Ashton loves getting his hands in it. God, he loves putting his hands in Luke’s hair. He loves running his fingers through it when they’re sitting on the couch together talking or when they’re lying on Ashton’s bed together in that post coital glow when it is slick with sweat and Ashton can smooth it back. 

Or, right now, with Luke going down on him, there’s nothing Ashton loves more than being able to grab handfuls of Luke’s curly golden hair while Luke’s mouth does absolute wonders on his cock, grounding himself in Luke’s curls while he throws his head back, groaning from deep in his throat as he comes into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he sighs, his head remaining titled back so his eyes face the ceiling, blinking away the stars that dance in his vision. 

Luke’s mouth slowly slips off him and lets out a rough chuckle in response. “And you said you didn’t want to get laid. Such a liar.”

Ashton shakes his head back and forth and he can’t stop the smile that splits over his face. 

He finally looks down at Luke who is sitting back on his knees, still in his pajama pants and t-shirt on the bedroom floor amidst Ashton’s loose papers and photographs. They’re mostly in black and white so Luke and his golden curls and baby blue eyes are the one bright splotch of color in a dark room. His lips are swollen and glossy and, for a moment, Ashton loses his ability to breathe or think.

His smile fades as he peers down at Luke’s hooded eyes and ‘fuck-me’ smile. He repeats, more dazed, “oh, _fuck_ , Luke.”

Luke laughs again and he wipes Ashton’s taste from his pouted lips with a thumb. “Yeah? That so?”

Ashton doesn’t say it out loud but he thinks _yeah… god, yeah absolutely_ and then he thinks there is never going to be a time that he’s not in awe of Luke on his knees in front of him. The first time Luke sucked him off when they were sober, Ashton had legitimately blacked out for a split second. It all been so much in the moment and Luke had made fun of him for it.

There’s nothing funny about Luke on his knees. It makes Ashton’s skin heat up all over again and he beckons Luke back onto the bed with a quick nod of his head. 

Luke crawls up into Ashton’s lap, smiling to himself with smug pride when Ashton lets out a small sound as Luke settles on his thighs. 

“So, how’s your final going?” Luke asks as if this is now some ordinary casual conversation and he’s not currently sitting on Ashton’s limp cock, rubbing his pajama pants over it to create more friction, attaching his lips to Ashton’s neck and shifting further into his chest. 

Ashton lets out a loud sigh, slipping his eyes shut. “Why would you bring that up? We had such a good thing going.”

Luke grins into his neck, nipping at the skin. “We can keep that good thing going, I’m only adding some conversation for, y’know, interests sake.”

“What?” Ashton pulls back in order to force Luke to look at him through his eyelashes. “You wouldn’t be into this if I were quiet? I could be the sexy silent type if I tried.”

“No way in hell,” Luke says through a barking laugh, teasing his fingers over the bottom of Ashton’s shirt, dangerously close to Ashton’s cock. “Your annoying commentary is the only reason you get laid. And your compliments. I definitely keep you around for the sake of my ego.”

Ashton pulls an offended expression. “What? My looks aren’t part of the reason? I’m only good for ego boosting?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Luke smirks, skimming over Ashton’s hip bones. “You’re far too ugly to pull anyone and we both know it.”

Ashton makes a hurt expression and Luke shakes his head, sniggering as he leans forward to kiss Ashton sweetly on the cheek and then on his eyelids, forcing Ashton to slip them shut again so Luke can gently press his lips to them. Ashton’s hands snake around his waist, holding him close.

His lips feel so kind against Ashton’s face, like this isn’t about a convenient fuck and it’s more than that. For a brief second, Ashton’s mind wanders to a place where Luke aren’t friends who fuck but they’re together and Ashton can hold his hand in public. Then he makes sure to stop it because he knows their arrangement and he doesn’t want to break his own heart. 

But he keeps his eyes closed.

“You know that’s not true,” Luke says against Ashton’s eyelashes, “don’t act like such a baby.”

Ashton grins to himself. “No, no I get it. You’re the looks of this operation. I’m the brains.”

“Who in the hell said you were the brains?” Luke asks. 

“If I’m not the looks and I’m not the brains then what the hell am I!” Ashton laughs loudly, hugging onto Luke’s legs which are wrapped around him. His fingers dig perhaps too hard into Luke’s thighs but there’s no protest. 

Luke grins. “I don’t know. You have the best dick, you can have that if you want.”

“I don’t want to be known in a relationship as ‘the one with the best dick.’”

Ashton stiffens at his own words because he knows ‘relationship’ is not the right term for them. There is no _relationship_ aspect to what Luke and he are doing. Sure, he helps Luke with his homework and he cooks him dinner sometimes and Luke talks to Ashton about his art and sneaks into his bed sometimes so they can lie together in the dark when he’s had a bad day but that’s for comfort only. Ease and convenience only. Ashton is a necessary comfort for Luke because Luke likes touch and he likes doting, caring people; that’s why he likes Ashton. Because he _needs_ Ashton. Not because he… Not because he wants to love Ashton. 

So ‘relationship’ isn’t the right word and Ashton shouldn’t have said it. 

But Luke doesn’t seem to notice and carries on as he was prior, unaware of the sweat that has sprung to Ashton’s brow. 

“Why not?” Luke kisses Ashton’s eyes again, making Ashton squint. “It’s a great compliment.”

“Yeah, sure it is.”

“Hey.” Luke leans back, giving Ashton a knowing expression, his hands gliding up along Ashton’s shoulders. “You should be proud of that dick. I love that dick.”

“Stop talking about my dick,” Ashton whines, but he feels the blood rushing to his face.

“Why?” Luke grins, running his fingers over Ashton’s shoulders to his neck where he cups the base of Ashton’s jaw. God, Ashton loves his hands. “You want less talk, more action?”

Luke leans in to kiss him and Ashton promptly pushes him off his lap and onto the bed so Luke is forced to flop down onto his mattress. Luke lets out a loud sound of disapproval, complaining, “what the hell was that?”

“I hate your dirty talk,” Ashton replies, brushing off his shirt and tucking himself back into his pants. “You’re fucking awful at it.”

“Didn’t seem to think I was so awful at it yesterday,” Luke reminds in a low, snide voice, propping himself up on his elbows to follow Ashton’s movements with his blue eyes. 

“You’re so fucking smug about it,” Ashton says whilst rising from the bed.

“What?” Luke tugs his shirt off with glittery fingers. “And you’re not?”

“No.” Ashton grabs his camera from the floor and before Luke can say a word, he’s turned around and snapped about four photos of Luke sprawled out on his bed shirtless in pajama pants. He smirks. “I’m not.”

“Hey!” Luke shouts, bolting upright, grappling to pick his shirt back up. “What the fuck was that!”

“Taking a photo,” Ashton answers casually and he snaps a few more of Luke sitting upright, one of his hands clamped over his clothed dick, and the other clutching his t-shirt, baby blue eyes open wide and bewildered, his lips parted in a delicious ‘o’ of shock that Ashton can’t wait to kiss closed. Or better yet, kiss even further open. 

“I know, but why!” Luke tries to squirm out of the camera’s line of sight, covering his body with his t-shirt. 

“Because you’re gorgeous,” Ashton replies matter of factly as he snaps a few more, zooming in on Luke’s plump red lips. “Just trying to prove a point.”

“Stop saying that!” Luke complains, covering his face with both hands to shield himself from the camera's peering gaze. “You don’t have to butter me up! I already sucked you off for fuck’s sake! You’re gonna get laid either way!”

“This isn't about getting laid,” Ashton says through a laugh, pulling his camera away from his eyes. “This is about you looking gorgeous. And I wanted a photo.”

Luke peaks out at Ashton over his fingers. “For what?”

Ashton grins and gives a tiny shrug as he looks over the photos he took. Luke’s lips are so fucking pretty with their perfect cupid’s bow and a glistening mark where he’d licked off Ashton’s cum. Raw where Ashton had nipped at them a little too hard when they were kissing earlier, all beautiful and bitten up. A mouth that was claimed and no one but the two of them knew it.

“For me,” Ashton murmurs as he goes over the photos. 

Luke shakes his head, completely not understanding as Ashton walks across his cluttered floor to write a new word on his window in capital letters. 

L - I - P - S

This time, Luke doesn’t admit to owning them.

***

Michael isn’t an arts major and has absolutely no pity for the stress Calum and Ashton are under trying to produce original content. 

“Just paraphrase lines from the play; you already have your parent text,” he is saying to Calum nonchalantly. 

“No!” Calum shouts from over his laptop. “You don’t understand!”

“Ya see?” Michael turns to Luke who is sitting next to him, popping a grape into his mouth. “This is why I’m not an arts major. It rots your brain.”

“Oh, because _Finance_ is so much more mentally sound,” Calum spits. 

“I’m not the one using my lunch period every day to write a scene based on a play that didn’t stop talking about _potatoes_.” Michael folds his arms. “Literal fucking potatoes.”

Ashton and Luke continue to eat their respective lunches, passing gazes between each other and then between Calum and Michael. 

“It seriously didn’t make any sense.” Calum slams his computer shut. “She just keeps mentioning how a good, strong man needs broad shoulders and hands like potatoes. Who in the fuck wants someone with potato hands?”

“Eurydice, apparently,” Ashton answers, “And Sarah Ruhl, I guess.”

“Oh, and me,” Luke adds from around a grape. “Do potatoes not turn you guys on?”

Ashton laughs and he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it until the words are out, “Oh, is that what turns you on about me then? My potato hands?”

Things stop and Ashton feels himself go rigid. 

“What?” Michael asks, sounding confused, like he didn’t quite get the joke. 

Luke is staring at Ashton with wide eyes, his jaw frozen mid chew. All eyes are on Ashton because that’s sort of a weird, left field thing for Ashton to say. Calum and Michael are the ones who make gay jokes. Ashton’s not even gay. Or, not to anyone but Luke he’s not.

“Right?” he tries to fumble his way out of this pit. “That’s… why you picked me as your dorm mate? Because of my big ass… _potato_ hands.”

Luke doesn’t try to supress the wheeze. “Yes, that’s absolutely why.”

Michael and Calum shake their heads and offer hesitant pity laughs, and Ashton sighs a sharp breath of relief that they don’t try to bring it up anymore. 

They go through the rest of lunch complaining about the play _Eurydice_ like anyone even understands what it’s about besides Calum.

“Give Crystal a kiss for me,” Calum says to Michael as he packs up his bag. “And maybe a good spank too while you’re at it.”

“You disgust me,” Michael returns as he slings his computer bag over his shoulder, “genuinely.”

“Don’t worry, he disgusts all of us,” Luke says and Ashton agrees in a nod, throwing away his apple core. 

“I get it, I get it,” Calum says, “you only keep me around for the diversity.”

Michael smacks him in the back of his head and Calum laughs at his own joke. 

As Luke and Ashton head their own way from the dining hall, Luke says to him from the corner of his mouth, smiling a bit, “that was really smooth back there, Irwin.”

Ashton throws his hands up. “I’m sorry, okay! It slipped out.”

Luke snickers. They continue to walk together across campus, reaching the open air and Luke inhales deeply through his nose. He has his eyes closed when he says, “Although, for the record, your potato hands are not what I like about you.”

Ashton nearly trips over himself as he snaps his head to the side, staring at Luke’s profile. “What?”

Luke cracks an eye open to look at him. 

“What—” Ashton stares at Luke in surprise. “What do you like about me?”

There’s this hope that Luke is going to say something beautiful and then confess to Ashton that he doesn’t want to do this sneaking around, fuck-buddies thing anymore but that he’s always secretly had a massive crush on Ashton and he’s finally ready to try a real relationship out, complete with public affection and genuine romance. 

But Luke smirks, and nods his head to Ashton’s pants, “your zucchini, of course.”

Ashton hopes the way he deflates isn’t too obvious. “Oh. Right. Best dick award goes to…”

Luke has a skip to his step. “Do me now—oop, not in that way—” He laughs— “time for that later. What vegetable of mine gets you going?”

Ashton glances at him. 

Luke’s looking at him so eagerly and the sun brightens his curls but it also catches his round baby blue eyes that put even the sky to shame. Ashton sighs, shoulders sagging. 

“Your eyes,” he answers.

There’s a few moments when their footfalls are the only sound, thudding over the grass as Ashton slips his hands into his pockets and doesn’t look over at Luke for even a split second. 

Luke doesn’t take his eyes off Ashton when he mumbles, “that’s not a vegetable.”

Ashton nods. “I know.”

Because he does.

***

He writes another word on his window.

E - Y - E - S

Luke doesn’t say anything about that one but later that night, Ashton catches him lingering by the bedroom door while Ashton scribbles down ideas for his final. 

“Got any good ones?” Luke asks absently from the doorframe. He has his arms wrapped around himself. 

Ashton shakes his head. “Nothing yet. I’m onto plants now. The potatoes gave me inspiration.”

Luke smiles to himself. “Okay… Good luck with that one.”

Ashton doesn’t say anything back and when Luke leaves, he doesn’t offer Ashton to come watch a movie with him. Ashton doesn’t understand why he’s so cold when he falls asleep. It’s not like Luke is usually lying beside him.

***

“I wanna ask a sex question,” Ashton says to Calum over the top of his laptop. They are in the library and Ashton probably should have said that quieter. 

Calum doesn’t look away from his computer screen. “Good, because I wanna give a sex answer.”

“You have casual sex, right?” Ashton rubs his finger against the wooden table. 

“Yes…” Calum glances up, a smile quirking his lips. “I am… a _man_?”

Ashton rolls his eyes but smiles. “I need genuine life advice, okay, don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” Calum protests. “The Love Doctor is in, my friend, whatever your sex problems are, I have answers. I also have extra condoms in my bag if this is about—”

Ashton tries not to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. He starts his question again, “how do you leave?”

“Leave?” Calum repeats, confused. 

“Like how do you just fuck and go, is what I’m asking.” Ashton folds his arms on the table. “You take girls home everytime we go out and I have never seen them again. So… _how_?”

Calum raises his brow before a small smile sets in. “Oh, okay. I see. You’re trying to ghost a bitch. What? She won’t stop calling you or something? Got one taste of the Irwin Dick and can’t shut up?”

“No—” Ashton starts but doesn’t get to finish.

“Never set it up as something else, that’s what I do.” Calum sniffs and goes to his computer as he speaks. “I tell them all I want is a good fuck and usually they’re pretty into that. I’m transparent. Honesty is sexy these days.”

Ashton rests his head in a hand. “But what if… I mean, what if you don’t _want_ that?”

“If you don’t want a good fuck?” Calum asks, looking back up. 

“Yeah.”

“What?” Calum presses backspace a few times. “You want a _bad_ fuck?”

“No!” Ashton groans, sitting up straight. Calum gets a good laugh out of his frustration. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You’re saying; what if you’re actually into this chick,” Calum replies, typing away. 

Ashton swallows. “Yeah.”

“Then you ask her out and go from there.” Calum snorts. “Seriously, Ash, you’d think you would have learned that’s how crushes work in twenty years of life.”

“I can’t ask him out,” Ashton complains and that causes Calum to stop dead in his tracks, fingers screeching to a halt on the keyboard. 

“H—” Calum blinks a few times— “ _Him_? Did you say ‘him’?”

“Yeah.” Ashton doesn’t waste time. He knows Calum won’t care that he’s attracted to men; Calum will be shocked, sure, but not unsupportive. They were all supportive as hell when Luke came out last year. Ashton supposes he was perhaps _too_ supportive, considering their current predicament. “I can’t ask him out because I’ve already set this up as something different.”

Calum waves a hand. “So we’re gonna skip by the gay thing—”

“We set this up as a friends with benefits situation,” Ashton carries on, “but I want so much more than that and I don’t even know how to address it.”

“You’re _gay_?” Calum asks, bewildered. 

“I think I love him or something dumb like that, I mean c’mon.” Ashton shakes his head. “It shouldn’t have even happened. We were drunk.”

Calum blinks several times. “You fuck _men_?”

Ashton continues his rant because now he’s sort of enjoying ignoring Calum because it is making Calum’s eyes get wider and wider and his voice come out higher and higher, “I know he wouldn’t have fucked me sober.”

“Men fuck _you_?” Calum points a finger. 

Ashton shakes his head, looking up and he is grinning. “No, I fuck men. _Man_. The gender doesn’t matter; I’m in crisis here, Cal.” 

“ _I’m_ in crisis!” Calum argues. “My best friend’s gay and never bothered to tell me. I, for one, am offended.”

“Don’t be.” Ashton laughs. “I’m not even gay, I’m—I don’t know. I like people.”

“But you love _Man_ ,” Calum says. 

“Yes…” Ashton swallows. “I think I love Man.”

“Do you love him or do you _think_ you love him?” Calum asks over his computer. “Because those are some pretty different fucking things, Ash.” 

Ashton stares at him. The words find the air. “Yeah… I love him… I think.”

Calum grunts. “You’re impossible. When did you fuck Man?”

“I guess it’s three months now?” Ashton purses his lips. “The first time it was because we were drunk and, I don’t know, it was something fun to do.”

Calum snorts. “When I think of ‘something fun to do’ I usually think of something like ‘bounce castle,’ not ‘dick in my ass’ but that’s a personal thing I guess.”

Ashton laughs. “Everybody has different hobbies.”

“Ew, God no.” Calum grimaces. “Please don’t call gay sex a hobby.”

“Anyways,” Ashton starts back up, directing his eyes to the table. “We started doing this… thing a few months ago and now I don’t know how to get out of it. It’s nice and all but—I mean it’s really fucking nice, don’t get me wrong—but … I _really_ like him, Cal, and I feel like all he wants from me is…”

He trails off with a sigh and Calum’s smile fades.

“Oh.” Calum watches him and he slowly shuts his laptop. “Oh, _Ash_.”

Ashton keeps his eyes on the table. 

Calum sighs, tilting his head. “This guy’s using you, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think he means to,” Ashton argues because he really doesn’t think Luke has meant to fuck up Ashton’s brain like he has. Luke is so unbelievably sweet; he would never hurt Ashton on purpose. It’s not his fault. Ashton’s the one who let it get this far. Ashton’s the one who tried to hide his developing infatuation with Luke under ‘fun between friends.’ 

“Whether he means to or not, he is.” Calum frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What does Luke think about this?” 

Ashton jerks his head up so fast he’s worried he’ll get whiplash. “What?”

“He’s your roommate,” Calum says, raising a brow, “surely he’s seen this guy coming and going? He hasn’t checked in on you or anything? Luke loves you to death; he’s gotta be worried about you. Or, hell—” Calum laughs— “jealous a bit.”

Ashton relaxes in his chair. “No, he hasn’t. I always… wait for him to go to class.”

“Sneaking around your roommate?” Calum shakes his head. “Ashton Irwin you are a _dog_.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Ironic, coming from you.”

“Listen,” Calum says, taking on a more serious expression, “I don’t give a shit what this guy’s intentions are, okay? If he’s hurting you, you drop his ass. And if you love him, tell him. If he doesn’t love you then he’s seriously missing the fuck out.”

Ashton forces a gentle smile. “Thanks, Cal.”

He doesn’t say out loud what he’s thinking, which is, _yeah that’s a nice thought but it’s so much more complicated than that. Because Luke’s one of my best friends and now I’ve made the terrible mistake of falling in love with him while simultaneously fucking him in our dorm about twice a week because I’m a fucking horny bastard who deserves nothing but talking stones in Hell._

“Hey, my next class is in twenty,” Calum says, starting to pack his computer up, “so we gotta get going.”

“How much did you get done?” Ashton asks, collecting his own bag.

“Uh, I opened the doc and titled it so—” Calum beams— “Basically a whole day’s worth.”

Ashton laughs. 

“How’s your photography project going?” 

“Don’t fuckng mention it. I’ve taken about three hundred photos of _grass_ this week because I was thinking about making my ‘whole’ the _earth_ ,” Ashton complains and Calum smiles to himself. 

“Here, let’s get a milkshake on the way to class,” Calum offers, starting to lead the way. Ashton gives him a look and Calum slows down. “You just came out to me after all; congratulations are in order. Plus, maybe it’ll distract us from the impending doom of our finals.”

Ashton can’t disagree.

***

Luke is wearing one of Ashton’s favorite shirts in the morning. 

Ashton catches sight of it at breakfast while Luke is eating his cereal and there’s a blue mark on his neck where Ashton’s mouth made it’s claim and seeing it, stark against Luke’s pale flesh, makes Ashton’s stomach twist. 

Luke doesn’t even realize how he looks so all he does is smile at Ashton as he walks by, holding his bowl of cereal. The shirt stops at about his belly button, leaving a stripe of cream skin exposed for the air, or maybe more if he desires to stretch and reach his hands up to the sky. 

Ashton sets himself a mental reminder to not stare so hard because, if he keeps this up, his eyes will surely burn two holes where Luke has dimples in his back. 

***

Michael seems to think Calum is too stressed with his creative writing project so he elects that Friday night they are going out for drinks to relieve tension which is a fun way of saying Michael needs an excuse to get shitfaced. 

Ashton doesn’t say it and Luke doesn’t say it but this is a terrible idea and they both know it because the last time the four of them went out drinking to ‘relieve stress’ Luke and Ashton ended up in bed together and that’s ended up… Well, it’s ended up how it’s ended up and it hasn’t ended up well. 

Granted, he’ll never tell Michael or Calum that so now he’s sitting at the bar with Michael, watching Calum dance with some random girl and sipping at his margarita as he watches Luke across the room talk to the man running karaoke, asking if they have this song or that song, to which Ashton makes out the worker say, “just pick one off the list, man; it’s not that hard.”

Luke seems disappointed and Ashton can’t help but smile to himself as he takes a drink.

“Okay.” Michael claps his hands loudly to gain back Ashton’s attention. “Thoughts on a Fall wedding?”

"Mike.” Ashton snorts as he sets his margarita back on the table. “You haven’t even asked her to marry you yet, let’s not get attached to the season quite this early.”

“I know, I know.” Michael nods with a huff. “Besides, I said I wasn’t gonna ask for another year and a half. Not until we both graduate and have a stable source of income.”

“Exactly.” Ashton runs his finger over the rim of his glass. “So don’t worry about it now.”

“But I _want_ to worry about it.” Michael rests his head on his hands on the bartop. “I bet she’d look great with fall colors.”

“You’re such a psycho.” Ashton chuckles.

“What?” Michael glances at him. “You don’t think about that sort of stuff?”

Ashton pulls back from his straw, frowning. “What sort of stuff?”

“Y’know, future sort of stuff. What you’re gonna do after you graduate. Like, marriage and kids and stuff.”

“Oh.” Ashton blinks. “Well, I definitely think about kids a lot. That’s why I’m so careful with protection, I mean god forbid I get pregnant.”

“I’m serious, Ash,” Michael laughs, nudging Ashton with an elbow. He fixes Ashton with this expectant sort of look, like he genuinely wants some deep, thought out answer. 

Ashton swallows and takes a sip of his margarita. “Like, seriously? Future stuff?”

“Seriously.” Michael bobs his head. “Future stuff.”

“Uh.” Ashton glances over his shoulder to watch Luke flip through the karaoke book, trying to pick a song like he does every Friday. “I mean. I don’t know. I don’t really think about that.”

Except that he does and he thinks that in a perfect future he and Luke are actually together and they sleep in the same bed without guilt the next morning and he can hold his hand when they’re walking in public and he can press kisses to Luke’s temple when he walks by him. He thinks about taking photos of Luke’s hands and his eyes and his lips and framing them in their bedroom. He thinks about all the different ways he would tell Luke he loves him.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I don’t plan this stuff out like you do, Mike.” 

Across the bar, Luke has apparently picked his song because he’s clambering up onto the stage and he’s obviously tipsy by the way he trips on the last stair. Ashton will have to call them a cab to take them home, won’t he? 

He would ask Calum but— 

His eyes wander to where Calum is dancing with a girl on the other side of the room, his face tucked into her neck. Yeah, he’s probably not gonna want to take his two drunk friends home when he could take a pretty girl instead. 

Luke doesn’t even do an introduction but at this point he’s sung on karaoke night so many times Ashton guesses he doesn’t have to. It’s Frank Ocean, of course, one of Luke’s favorites and Ashton listens to him in a daze, watching how Luke closes his eyes when he sings and bobs his head and holds onto the microphone, pressing his body against the stand it's attached to. 

Ashton has never wanted to be a microphone stand so badly in his life. 

He wishes he had his camera with him because he wants nothing more than to get a snapshot of Luke like this. In his element, on the stage, where he’s always been meant to be, the center of attention. He wants photos of Luke’s curled hair in the stage lights and his closed blue eyes and fingers wrapped around the microphone like it’ll kill him if he lets go. 

Next time, Ashton is going to remember to bring his camera. 

“You ever…” Ashton shakes his head, listening to Luke’s beautiful voice carry through the room. Michael looks at him. “You ever think about how talented Luke really is? I mean sometimes I look at him and hear him sing and I’m… I mean, I’m in awe of him.”

Michael snorts. “I swear, sometimes you talk like you have a crush on him.”

Ashton forces a laugh. Yep. Sometimes he does.

Michael nods but he looks displeased with that answer. “Huh. Hey, wait can I ask you a question, speaking of the future?”

Ashton nods, drinking his margarita slowly. 

“This book that Cal’s writing a scene for? What’s it called again?”

Ashton smiles. “One, it’s a play—”

“Tomato, Tamato.” Michael wakes a hand, reaching for his half drunk beer.

“Two, it’s called _Eurydice_.”

“And that’s a greek girl, right?” Michael asks. 

Ashton drinks his margarita. “Yeah. It’s basically a more modern, more poetic retelling of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.”

Michael gives him a funny look which makes Ashton scoot forward on his bar stool, ready to explain further. Calum has talked about it non stop lately so he knows far more than he should about greek mythology.

“I’ll give you the abridged version. There’s this girl named Eurydice and she’s engaged to a musician named Orpheus. On their wedding day, she dies—”

Michael drinks his beer. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah and she goes to the Underworld—Hell. Orpheus can’t live without her, right? So he goes to the Underworld to get her back. He convinces Hades—Satan—to let him in to save Eurydice with his beautiful music.”

Luke’s voice is carrying across the bar and it makes Ashton smile. 

“Hades agrees. On one condition, Orpheus can lead Eurydice back out of the Underworld, but if he looks back over her shoulder, she will be trapped there forever; he has to trust that she’s there.”

“And?” Michael blinks at Ashton with wide eyes. 

“And what?”

“Does he look back?”

“Oh,” Ashton laughs, “of course he does. It’s a greek tragedy. He lasts like six steps and then does a full 360.”

“What the fuck Orpheus,” Michael laments and he raises his drink back to his lips. “All he had to do was not look at her for a few minutes. What a little bitch. How weak do you have to be?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton tries to argue and from the corner of his eyes he makes out Luke stumbling off the stage, a dopey childish grin plastered on his face and his blue eyes squinted at the corners. “Some people are worth looking at.”

“I still think it’s dumb as shit,” Michael grumbles as he throws back his beer. 

Luke makes eye contact with Ashton across the bar and winks. Ashton lets out a breath. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

***

A cab takes Ashton and Luke home and Luke falls asleep within ten minutes of the drive, his head resting on Ashton’s shoulder so his curls tickle the bottom of Ashton’s jaw and his nose, mouth drooped open and eyes fluttered shut. 

Ashton is such a sucker that he can’t stop looking down at Luke and smiling stupidly. His cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much. 

He thinks maybe he had one too many margaritas. 

He definitely did because when Luke shifts further into his chest with a small murmur when they go over a speedbump, Ashton hugs him closer. 

Although, much to his dismay, he has to wake Luke up when the cab makes it to campus which he feels bad about because Luke blinks those big sad baby blue eyes up at him, trying to clear them and he looks so exhausted, rubbing at one of his eye sockets with the heel of a hand. 

“What?” he mumbles, sounding pathetic and oh so small and Ashton really doesn’t want to force him to walk to their dorm so he lets out a sigh because he recognizes how much of a dumb shit he is for being in as love as he is. 

“Just so you know,” he says as he pulls Luke out of the cab’s backseat, “you’re definitely going to owe me for this later.”

Luke smiles dazedly up at him. “I know.”

Ashton bends down, gesturing with his head for Luke, “get on my back.”

Luke snickers to himself but he doesn’t protest as he loops his arms around Ashton’s shoulders while Ashton grabs onto his thighs, hoisting them up around his waist. Luke rests his head on Ashton’s shoulder, his eyes instantly sliding shut again. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles against Ashton’s ear and Ashton suppresses the chill that runs down his spine as he kicks the cab door shut, giving a friendly nod to the driver who rolls his eyes in return. 

“Anything for you, Lu,” he mutters in return as he heads back to the dorms, hands tight on Luke’s legs to keep him from falling. 

His fingers press into Luke’s thighs and if he weren’t a coward, he would tell him he loves him. 

But he can’t. And he doesn’t, even when they reach their dorm and Ashton drops Luke to his feet, eliciting a whine from the blonde. 

“But I was comfortable,” he complains, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Uh-huh. Go get comfortable in bed,” Ashton teases with a grin as he gently pushes Luke in the back to get him to move forward. 

Luke makes another sound of complaint but doesn’t say anything as he wanders from the doorway to his bedroom.

“You’re a drama queen,” Ashton calls as he kicks off his shoes. 

“Yes.” Luke’s voice returns from the other room.

Ashton chortles to himself as he walks into his own bedroom, shedding himself of his shirt and then his pants, leaving himself in just his boxers before sliding into bed, tugging the covers up to his throat.

He stares at the ceiling. 

He’s a coward.

***

He’s woken up in the middle of the night by the loud shuffling of papers and a soft curse. 

“Luke?” he asks, propping himself up on an elbow and peering through the dark to see Luke’s silhouette stumbling over his hundreds of photos on the floor. “What the hell are you doing? It’s like two a.m.”

Luke doesn’t say anything at first when he clambers into bed beside Ashton, cuddling up to his bare chest. Luke is wearing the same clothes he was at the bar, a t-shirt and his jeans and Ashton can’t imagine that being comfortable but Luke doesn’t complain as he presses himself to Ashton’s chest. 

“Sorry,” he says into Ashton’s bare skin, “m’lonely.”

“Okay,” Ashton answers quietly as he wraps an arm around Luke’s shoulder, bringing him close. He’s trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. “That’s okay.”

They lay together in silence for a few beats, Ashton’s heart pounding in his chest as he hugs Luke against him until Luke presses a kiss to his chest. Ashton stops breathing for a second.

“Luke…” he starts and he doesn’t mean for it to sound like a warning but it does, his voice coming out strained. 

Luke kisses Ashton’s chest again, lips dragging against the skin, velvety and warm. 

“What’re you doing?” Ashton asks.

“I want you,” Luke says into his skin and Ashton freezes upon the words' impact. “Now. Fuck, I want you now.” 

Ashton chokes. “ _Luke_.”

Luke raises his head from Ashton’s chest, staring at him in the dark, his pupils huge and round. “Please, Ash. Pretty please.” 

“It’s like two in the morning.” Ashton tries to argue again and in his defense it _is_ the truth. “I’m tired.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Luke shakes his head frantically. He’s starting to sit up, propping himself up with a hand on Ashton’s other side, hovering over him. “I swear I won’t make you. I just—fuck, Ash.”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, his baby blues darting over Ashton’s face and his hand gently soothing over Ashton’s hip in a circle. His voice is low and hoarse when he speaks. 

“I want you inside me so bad. That’s all I want.” He chews at his lip. His pupils are massive. “You don’t even have to fuck me, just let me sit on your cock.”

Ashton loses the ability to breathe entirely. 

How is he supposed to say no to that?

***

Ashton is—in all terms of the word— _infatuated_ with Luke’s body. 

The way his eyelashes flutter and his pink lips part when he breathes as he sinks down onto Ashton, bracing his hands on Ashton’s ribs, fingertips splaying over his skin. 

How warm Luke is and how absolutely right he feels perched on top of Ashton, head tilted back with his mouth partially open. 

Fuck.

Luke still has his shirt on which is a damn shame because all Ashton can make out is the beginnings of his collarbones but the shirt cuts off at about his hips so Ashton has a good enough view of his hip bones as they shift beneath his skin while he settles himself into Ashton’s lap. 

Without thought, Ashton’s hands find Luke’s sides and he presses his thumbs against said bones, holding Luke in place. 

Luke lets out a shallow breath, staying in place, slowly tilting his eyes back down to look at Ashton through hooded lids. 

“Hey,” he whispers into the air between them. 

Ashton smiles, closing his eyes and lolling his head to the side. “Shh. I’m trying to sleep.”

Luke scoffs, hitting Ashton in the chest which makes Ashton laugh, as Luke complains, “you can’t try to _sleep_ while I’m riding you, asshole; that’s just rude.”

“You said I didn’t have to do anything!” Ashton argues back and his fingers are tweaking at the skin over Luke’s hip bones. “Sounds like false advertising, you ask me.”

Luke doesn’t say ‘shut up’ with his words but he does with a small rotation of his hips against Ashton’s pelvis and Ashton lets out a surprised gasp, gripping harder to Luke’s sides. He glares up at Luke, his jaw clenching briefly. Luke gives him the most shit-eating smile he’s ever seen. 

“Sorry, was that false advertising?” he prompts and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up, you cocky bitch.”

“I can’t help it.” Luke shrugs and he wets his lips to make them glisten, rolling his hips against Ashton again, letting out a small sigh as he does so. “God, I wanted this all night.”

Ashton’s throat clenches. “Me too.”

He slides his hand up Luke’s back to his neck, pulling him down for a kiss with his fingers in Luke’s fluffy blonde curls, even more mussed up by sleep. Their lips connect sweetly—far sweeter than what should be right for two friends fucking for fun. 

Luke’s lips are pillow soft and Ashton sighs through his nose as he coaxes Luke’s mouth open to taste more of him. One of his hands slips up beneath Luke’s shirt to feel his moving spine and the other tugs at Luke’s curls, eliciting a sharp whine from the blonde. 

“Fuck,” Luke hisses, “I love your hands.”

Ashton nearly laughs but he doesn’t, merely quirks his lips up as he kisses Luke again. “What? Not just my dick?”

“Well, I can love that too,” Luke replies and for emphasis he pushes back down onto Ashton, slowly fucking himself on Ashton’s cock. Ashton groans against his mouth. 

“I love your lips,” he says as an answer to an unasked question, gripping Luke’s hair harder in his fist, and gently scratching his nails against Luke’s back beneath his shirt. He doesn’t say the rest out loud but he loves Luke’s blue eyes, his long glittery fingers, his golden curls, his voice when he sings in the living room, and his shiny white smile. He loves every bit of Luke. 

He snaps his eyes open, jaw slacking in shock as it hits him, hard and all too sudden.

“Oh, fuck,” he exclaims, exhaling roughly, and the surprise is enough to make his body react, pushing up into Luke, who lets out an equally surprised gasp, moving against him. 

“Shit, Ash,” he pants, looking at him with glazed blue eyes before moving in to kiss him again with those pillowy lips, “that felt amazing.”

Ashton can’t help but agree with a rushed nod as he grabs the bottom of Luke’s shirt with his hands, tugging it off him. He says, “I want to see you. I want to see all of you.”

Luke helps him pull the wretched thing off, smirking slightly to himself, staring at Ashton in a daze, continuing to wet his lips with his tongue. 

“Fucking shit,” Ashton says, looking over him, running his hands down Luke’s sides to grab his waist. He pulls Luke down against him, thrusting up into him, and Luke throws his head back with a moan, his hands grabbing at Ashton’s chest for balance.

“God, Ashton,” Luke says, breathing already coming in sharper, “God, yes. More.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling Luke harder against him. His skin is buzzing and his mind is starting to rush in circles. 

Pieces of a whole is what Luke is. 

With his raw, bitten lips that are plush and pink, glistening with Ashton’s lasting taste. 

His trembling fingers, pressed against Ashton’s chest, searching for stability. 

His fluttered eyelashes, inky and splayed out against flushed cheeks, rosy and hot from the blood attempting to breach the surface. 

His breath coming in gasps, tentative and trying not to be too loud and yet Ashton wished he could hear them better. The way they stutter and hitch in the air, throat clenching as Luke swallows. 

His golden curls slick with sweat that twist around the backs of his ears and loop over his forehead, mingling with smooth, creamy skin. His skin, buzzing to the touch of Ashton’s fingertips, daring him to press further until he can reach the source of the shiver, leaving blue and purple marks in his wake. 

Luke is bits upon bits, every detail worth describing and hovering over. 

“Fuck, Luke,” Ashton says breathlessly, moving up into him, “I want to take a picture. Can I please take a picture? Fuck, please Luke. I _have_ to take a picture.”

Luke lets out a choked laugh. It barely comes out a sound when he agrees, nodding. Ashton can’t even believe it; all he can do is fumble to get his camera off his bedside table in the dark without jostling them too much, but of course he does and Luke whines.

The camera angle is so off, and it’s shaky and terribly framed as Ashton continues to fuck up into Luke while snapping multiple photos of him, his head thrown back and mouth hung open, sweat having gathered on his brow and the small pool of it at the base of his collarbone, his skin glistening like a jewel. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Ashton mumbles, capturing another photo and then another of Luke squinting his eyes shut as he bites down on his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Luke’s voice is shallow. 

“I love you so much,” Ashton’s mouth says before his brain, “every piece of you. Fuck, I love you, Luke.”

At the same time that Ashton processes what he’s just said, Luke comes onto his stomach and the camera lense.

***

They don’t mention it the next morning. Not even for a brief second do they acknowledge that Ashton said what he said. The only time the night is addressed is when Luke catches him before he leaves for class, saying, “sorry about your camera by the way.” 

Ashton says back, “it’s fine. I can clean it.”

The whole thing is terrifying. It’s so fucking terrifying because that most likely means that Luke doesn’t feel the same way. And Ashton is dying with that knowledge inside him, hollowing him out. 

And he can’t tell anyone. 

Not even Calum, who is currently sitting across from him at lunch, typing aggressively at his computer. Ashton watches his fingers race over the keys, like if he were to stop for even a second, he would lose all track of the words. 

“Guess someone figured out their scene then, huh?” Ashton voices, sipping at his coffee while watching Calum hammer away at the keys from the corner of his eyes. 

Calum doesn’t so much as glance up, typing away, “I had a tour de force last night.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” Calum nods hurriedly. 

“And what triggered this—” Ashton waves a hand— “sudden stroke of genius. They’re so rare with you.”

Calum gives him a glare over the top of his screen and Ashton smiles before Calum turns back to his computer and says, “I had some of the best sex of my life last night.”

Ashton has to physically restrain himself from saying, _god, me too_.

“And,” Calum carries on, “she told me she never wanted to stop hearing me moan because it sounded like music—”

“Dear God, please stop talking,” Ashton cuts him off with a grimace, holding his coffee more protectively. “I do not need to know that, Cal. Too much information.”

Calum glowers at him again, fingers slowing their assault on the computer for a brief moment. “So anyway, that got me thinking about Eurydice—”

Ashton snorts. “Naturally. I always think of greek mythology when I fuck.”

Calum promptly ignores him. “And about how Orpheus is a musician. And then I started thinking about how there’s no music in the Underworld.” 

Calum has abandoned typing entirely, leaning over top of his computer to tell Ashton his plan. 

“So what does she miss most about him? Hearing him play music. That’s all she wants, is to hear him sing again. She doesn’t think she can go another minute without hearing his voice.”

Ashton thinks about Luke in their living room in his pajamas on an early morning with sunshine drenching him through, blue eyes dazzling and voice just as beautiful. 

“And then?” Calum gets more eager. “Orpheus, right, he hasn’t seen Eurydice in forever because she’s—I mean, y’know, she’s dead. And he can’t look back, right, as he’s leading her out of Hell? But that’s all he wants to do. He just wants to see her again. He doesn’t think he can go another moment without _seeing_ her.”

Ashton swallows. 

“So I’m gonna have them on the stage—” Calum starts miming it out— “Orpheus on one side, Eurydice on the other, and they’re gonna be doing a duologue about the things they miss and how all they want is to hear those things from each other and see each other and then—And _then_!”

He bounces up and down in his seat eagerly. 

“Then they both turn around at the same time. And Eurdyice says ‘I just want him’ as Orpheus says ‘I just want her’ and then they see each other, lock eyes, realize, and they gasp as it goes to black.”

Ashton stares at him. 

_I just want him_.

“Shit,” he says quietly. 

“It’s good, right?” Calum prompts, smiling with a hurried bob of his head. 

Ashton opens his mouth and closes it. He shoves his chair back as he stands. 

“What are you—” Calum frowns— “Wait, what? Where are you going? Hey, don’t be a dick, it’s not that bad!”

“No, I—It’s good, Cal, it’s fine, it’s just that—” Ashton shakes his head, collecting his bag hurriedly— “I have to tell Luke I love him.”

Calum’s eyes bug out of his head. “You have to what?” 

Ashton is too busy starting to jog away that he doesn’t reply. 

“Wait, Ashton!” Calum shouts, standing up from his chair. “You have to _what_!”

***

Ashton is in the living room when Luke comes back home, standing like a literal idiot. He knows he looks like a mess, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled. He can’t stop toying his bottom lip between his teeth and massaging the inside of his wrist nervously. 

The door creaks open as Luke enters their dorm, eyes directed to a book in his hands. 

“Hey,” Ashton blurts and Luke looks up, startled. 

“Oh, shit, hey,” Luke says, marking his page and shutting the book, dropping his bag next to the door. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in your photoshop class right now?”

“I’m skipping,” Ashton answers. 

“Oh.” Luke grins. “How scandalous. What’s the occasion, Ferris Bueller?”

“I figured out what I’m doing for my photography final.”

“You did?” Luke instantly sounds eager, walking forward. “Well, c’mon, tell me! Please say the pieces are roots and the whole is a potato.”

“As fun as that would be,” Ashton says, the fear starting to set in. His palms are sweating. “I think it’s better if I just show you.”

He gestures with his head for Luke to follow him to his room, which Luke does of course, smiling happily as he does so, a skip in his step. When they walk in, Luke blinks at the floor beneath him. 

“Oh my god,” he says, “you cleaned. Are you okay?”

Ashton doesn’t answer and Luke looks up with a frown. The instant he does, his eyes land on the opposite wall, beside Ashton’s window that is covered in writing, where his pictures are hanging. 

Luke’s face drains, his eyes going wide at the sight. 

The pictures are laid across one another, overlapping at the corners, but they can be made out easily. They are all edited in black and white, but with color accents in each. 

Luke’s glittery hands, framed to highlight his shiny nails and glistening fingertips as water drips off them, the sunlight catching them to make them shine. 

The same hands are featured in another photo, one of Luke’s collar bones, his fingers braced on his shoulder, highlighting the stark bones poking out of his flesh, his t-shirt clenched in his fist, it and the background are dark grey. 

Luke’s perfect lips, parted barely, up close and glistening, the corners turned up in the ghost of a smile. Pink and stark.

Luke from the waist up on Ashton’s bed, hands covering his face, the window shutters casting diagonal stripes over him so only certain parts shine; his purple nail polish covering his blue eyes, the top of his golden curls like a halo, his ribs through his skin, the ends of his collar bones. 

Luke’s dazzling white smile and the bottom of his nose, his dimples prominent. 

Luke’s baby blue eyes that put the sky to shame. 

Luke from the collar bones to his nose, head thrown back and mouth hung open, the entire room dark behind him, framing him like he’s made of gold. 

Luke looking down at Ashton with those half lidded blue eyes, wet lips, and dilated pupils. Out of frame, Ashton is fucking up into him while gripping his hips.

“Oh my fucking—” Luke starts, eyes searching over the photos— “These are… these are _me_.”

Ashton smiles, huffing out a nervous laugh. He’s definitely sweating. “Y-yeah. The pieces are… I mean the bits are you and the whole is ‘intimacy’.”

Luke turns to him, eyes huge. 

“I’m obviously not going to turn it in to my teacher,” Ashton adds quickly, “because that wouldn’t be very fair to you, so I’m gonna turn in another collection I made of all the statues around campus and I’m gonna call it ‘Medusa’s Remnants’ or something—Cal got me thinking about greek mythology—but yeah, uh—”

Luke is staring at him in silence, face lacking any sort of emotion but pure bewilderment. 

Ashton takes a breath and stares right back. “I told you I loved you last night.”

Luke lets out a choked sound. “Ash—”

“And I’m really sorry if you don’t feel the same way…” Ashton tucks his thumbs into his pockets. “And I get it if you don’t. All you signed up for was a fun fuck and I’ve ruined that, I know it. But I love you and that’s just the truth.”

He nods his head to the photos on the wall. 

“Every bit of you.”

Luke blinks sluggishly. “You lo—”

He lets out a hacking, shocked laugh. 

“This is the… weirdest fucking thing that has ever happened to me _ever_ ,” he says, breathless. “What the fuck.”

“Sorry.” Ashton rubs the back of his neck, glancing at the pictures on his bedroom wall. “May have gone a little overboard with this one.”

Luke scoffs, “you think?”

Ashton feels like maybe he’s shaking. 

“And, y’know, if I didn’t love you so fucking much too,” Luke says, “I would give you such a hard time about it.”

Ashton snaps his head up so fast he swears his neck cracks. Luke smiles at him with that perfect cupid’s bow and shiny teeth. Ashton raises his hands in full surrender, giving Luke a stressed look. “Wait, are you serious? Because I really put myself out here by doing this and I’m very emotionally fragile right now so you can’t say things if you don’t mean—” 

Luke rolls his eyes and walks to Ashton, grabbing him by the back of the neck and kissing him forcibly, Ashton’s words drowning in the back of his throat. He can’t help but close his eyes, a hand going for Luke’s waist. 

This kiss is different than all the others they’ve shared. It’s honest. 

“Yeah.” Luke pulls away, bumping noses with Ashton. “I’m serious.”

Ashton lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh, fuck, okay. Okay, wow.”

Luke laughs, rolling his eyes. “Uh-huh. And I love—I mean I _love_ —the photos, even if they are of me, which is a little… it’s sort of weird, not gonna lie. But I am glad you’re not going to turn in literal porn to your teacher for your final.” 

He nods his head to Ashton’s wall. Ashton follows his line of sight to the pictures of Luke’s lips and eyes and hands. He smiles to himself with an anxious chuckle. “I don’t know, I think he’d like it. You’re super fucking hot.”

Luke shoves him playfully in the chest. “Shut up.”

Ashton can’t stop smiling. He kisses Luke again, reveling in the way his lips taste. 

“But,” Luke says between kisses, “we _can_ use them to tell Mike and Cal. Just really scar them for the rest of their lives.”

“Oh god yes. Please,” Ashton begs through a sharp laugh. 

Luke grins at him in response, his hand running down Ashton’s arm so that he can loop their fingers together, gripping onto Ashton tightly, as he moves to kiss him again, slotting their lips together. 

Ashton lets out a contented sigh as he kisses Luke, proud to finally be whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
